


Facades

by leavinghope



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Friendship/Love, Gen, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, Pining John, Pining Sherlock, mention of miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-12
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-04-04 03:34:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4124202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leavinghope/pseuds/leavinghope
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John Watson witnesses the way life at Baker Street is changing for Sherlock Holmes, but is everything as it seems?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Reception

John Watson always experienced a pang of nostalgia when he entered 221B Baker Street. His time there with Sherlock Holmes counted amongst the best parts of his life. He and his wife Mary shared a suitable home, and she had been a valued assistant at his medical practice, but nothing quite replaced the feeling of being at back at Baker Street, a feeling of belonging that was difficult for a naturally reservedman like John to articulate.

Of course, after today, he did not belong there any more. Because today was the day Sherlock Holmes married Molly Hooper.

John watched the small gathering in the cozy sitting room. Mrs. Hudson bustled around in a flurry of lace and crinolines, ensuring plenty of tea and biscuits were available because Sherlock and Molly had eschewed the typical wedding traditions. No morning ceremony. No breakfast. Just a late afternoon wedding and tea in the small rooms of Baker Street, where the clattering of hooves could be heard on the cobbled street outside. Gregory Lestrade engaged in deep quiet conversation with Mycroft Holmes, both men standing close before the fire.  Mary rested on the settee next to Helen Stamford, whose husband Michael approached John with an inquisitivelook in his eyes.

“How are you doing?”

John took a deep breath and attempted to relax his shoulders. “Fine, I’m fine. How are you?”

“Surprised, I guess.” Mike shook his head, piquing John’s curiosity 

“By what?”

“I never thought Holmes to be a marrying man.”

Although John felt the same way, he asked, “And why wouldn’t he be?”

Mike merely responded with a knowing smile, and John bristled.  Sherlock did not have such proclivities. In fact, until the abrupt engagement announcement just a few short weeks ago, John would have sworn Sherlock had no proclivities at all. 

But then again, until the engagement announcement, John would also have sworn Molly had eyes only for Greg, who had appeared to return her regard. Molly Hooper, a member of the laundry staff at St. Bartholomew’s Hospital, was sweet enough, John supposed. She had started her relationship with Sherlock by willingly venturing into the morgue to bring clean rags. She had expressed an interest in an autopsy John was performing, and her natural talents towards medical forensics had endeared her to John and Sherlock both. She would not normally be permitted into the morgue and laboratories because of her gender, but they would send for her to bring clean towels, and Mike chose to ignore the obvious subterfuge for Molly’s sake. Everybody liked Molly Hooper, but John was still baffled that Sherlock would love her. 

_Talk of the Devil and he doth appear._

As Sherlock and Molly entered the room, John noted Sherlock appeared satisfied. He did not even seem to mind that Mrs. Hudson flung her arms around him as Lestrade rushed over to help Molly with her coat. Her wedding dress was pale blue and simple in design, eschewing the recent fashion of white gowns with lace and narrow waists. _An unconventional choice for an unconventional woman_ , John thought.

Mary and Helen rose from the sofa, and everyone gathered around the newly married couple to give their congratulations.

Mary caught Molly in a brief embrace. “Congratulations, Mrs. Holmes.”

Molly glanced at Sherlock. “First time anyone has called me that. It’ll take some getting used to.”

“Quite.” Sherlock agreed.

With his felicitations stuck in his throat, John moved out of the way to allow the Stamfords approach the newlyweds.

Helen kissed Molly’s cheek. “Now we can give up pretending you’re going upstairs just to bring fresh linens. Nobody would dare tell Sherlock Holmes’ wife to stay out of the lab.”

“Yes, quite the farce we’re all acting in.” Mike reached out to shake Sherlock’s hand. “I never thought I’d see this day.”

John caught a glimmer of something in Sherlock’s expression he could not identify. Sherlock clasped Mike’s offered hand and sighed dramatically. “What a man will do for love.”

Mike nodded, and the crowd laughed. Then they broke up into different groups as the reception continued. Mrs. Hudson pressed a plate of biscuits into Sherlock’s hands, a gesture so familiar that John felt his eyes begin to water. He covered by coughing, and Mary rushed over with a fresh cup of tea. “A little choked up, my dear?”

Of course, Mary would antagonize John today, but he did not feel inclined to indulge her. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Anything for my husband.”

John stepped back and averted his face to avoid Mary’s icy smile. He sipped his tea until he heard the swishing of Mary’s skirts against the rug signaling she had gone to talk to someone else. John looked over to where Sherlock was standing next to the fireplace. He watched as Sherlock put down his plate in order to adjust the position of the skull on the mantel, then he prodded at some of the dying coals in the fire. The set of his shoulders betrayed a tension only John would notice. Then, as he fidgeted with his waistcoat, Sherlock’s gaze met John’s in the mirror above the mantel and caught. John was working up the courage to walk over and congratulate his best friend on his marriage when Mycroft interrupted by saying to the gathering, “Please allow me to say some words to mark this miraculous event.”

Facing the sitting room again, Sherlock rolled his eyes. John could not help but grin at the familiar brotherly reaction.

“I cannot believe I have witnessed Sherlock Holmes’ wedding today. Truly, the thought of him spending his life with a woman at his side just never crossed my mind.”

Sherlock stiffened at Mycroft’s mocking tone, and John saw Mike lean closer to give Sherlock’s elbow a gentle squeeze. John suddenly remembered Mike had known Sherlock longer than he had and wondered if there had been some truth to his earlier words left unspoken. _No, certainly not._ John was appalled at letting himself to think such a thing.

“To Mrs. Molly Holmes, we welcome you into our family.” Mycroft performed a gallant bow over Molly’s hand. “You are a brave woman to enter into this contract with my brother. I hope the outcome is most agreeable to you and those closest to you.”

Molly nodded seriously, and Mycroft gifted her with a rare sincere smile. “Finally, let me say how glad our mother and father are to know their youngest son has settled down at last.”

Amidst laughter, Greg said, “A miracle indeed.”

Mycroft laid a hand on Greg’s shoulder and directed his response to the newlyweds. “To a most fruitful union.”

Sherlock startled, and Molly blushed.

Mycroft walked over to the coat rack and retrieved his overcoat and umbrella. He tilted his head to the others in the room. “And now we should be going. Let the happy couple enjoy their wedding night.”

Greg chuckled, and Molly blushed even more. Sherlock said, “Yes, everybody out.”

Even John joined in the general amusement at the terseness of Sherlock’s words, while everyone started to gather their belongings.

The Stamfords took their leave first, handshakes and kisses exchanged. Mrs. Hudson hesitated in the doorway. “Are you sure I can’t bring up a hot supper? I prepared a nice roast just in case.”

Molly said, “Thank you, but we’ll manage.”

Sherlock voiced his agreement. “Yes, Mrs. Hudson, we’ll be just fine without you fluttering around the flat this evening.”

“Oh, my dear boy, just tell me what I can do to help. I know this is not easy…”

Mycroft cut in. “Congratulations once again on your marriage, little brother. Mummy is thrilled.” He nodded at Molly, and then Mycroft took Mrs. Hudson’s arm and gently led her downstairs. 

Mary finally approached the newlyweds. “Congratulations, my sweet.” She and Molly exchanged kisses on the cheek. Mary turned to Sherlock and asked, “So, you finally found someone who wanted you, too?”

John did not like the smirk on her face, especially directed towards Sherlock. 

Sherlock shrugged, apparently unaffected. “It is good to love openly and honestly, don’t you agree?” 

“Of course.” Mary reached up to give Sherlock a hug and kiss on the cheek. “I’ll keep him in trouble.”

Sherlock stared directly in her eyes. “You keep him safe.”

Mary responded with a quizzical look at Sherlock and then tugged on John’s hand. “Come along, husband. Let’s grant our friends some privacy.”

John did not want to leave, not just yet. “Give us a moment?”

“A moment. It’s time to go home.”

 _But I am home_. John watched as Mary shrugged into her red frock coat. He ventured a smile towards Molly. “Congratulations to you both.”

Molly’s face was full of an unexpected sadness as she said, “Thank you for being here today, Doctor Watson. I don’t know what Sherlock would have done without you.”

The sound of Mary’s footsteps faded as she walked down the stairs. John knew he should follow soon. He looked at Sherlock and foundered for something to say. As John hesitated, Greg collapsed on the sofa, prompting John to ask, “Aren’t you coming with us, Lestrade?” 

“No, I live here, remember?”

Indeed, Greg had been sharing the flat with Sherlock for some months now, having moved into John’s old room after separating from his wife. The Lestrades could not divorce. He had related the reasons to John during a long pub session one night while Sherlock was away: young impetuous marriage, disapproving parents, and a society not structured to allow a divorced woman to earn meaningful wages.  The atmosphere in the house had grown too tense  for Greg, and Sherlock had offered him a place when Greg’s mood had started interfering with his attitude on cases. _For God’s sake, Lestrade, if it’s that bad, live upstairs at Baker Street. Get your head back in the game._ Lestrade had been surprised, but John knew Sherlock was fond of Greg in his own way. However, John had thought Molly would not want the arrangement to continue after the wedding.

“You’re still using the room upstairs, now Holmes is married?”

Greg hesitated, and Sherlock chimed in. “Somebody has to pay the rent around here, and Lestrade has a steady income, not that I know why the Yard would ever pay him.” 

Greg teased, “Did you just admit you need me?”

John was surprised at the earnestness with which Sherlock replied. “Yes, right now I do.”

Greg rose from the sofa and clapped Sherlock on the shoulder. He walked over to the fireplace to speak with Molly.

John finally felt the privacy he needed to speak with Sherlock. “Congratulations. I hope you’ll be very happy.”

John held out his hand, and Sherlock clasped it. “Thank you, Watson. I hope you are not insulted by the fact I asked Lestrade to stand with me today.” Sherlock squeezed John’s hand before releasing it. His indecipherable eyes focused everywhere but on John. “He felt… I felt it was important he stand before the officiant. You know, with the situation how it is.”

John was touched by Sherlock’s unusual nervousness. “It’s all fine, Holmes. He’s your colleague and flatmate. It makes sense he would be your best man.” The hurt John had felt at being passed over to stand with Sherlock fell away at the sight of his friend’s relief. 

“I remember the honor of being your best man. You are the one I would have preferred to have at my side. You… you are my best friend.”

“And please know you will always be mine.”

Sherlock smiled his most honest smile, the one John swore was just for him. “To hear you say that is the best wedding gift you could have given me.”

John smiled in return and took a step back towards the stairway. “Well, I suppose I should finally leave you to your wedding night.” _And leave before I embarrass myself by giving in to the urge to hug you._

“My best to you and Mrs. Watson.” Sherlock’s smile changed from open and affectionate to polite and deliberate as he reached the doorknob, and John hated to have been the cause. John turned as a whispered “Good-bye, John” reached his ears.

Against the pending chill of the evening, the warmth of Sherlock’s voice held John in place. But both men had wives waiting for them now, so John forced himself into motion. As he shuffled down the stairs, John heard the door to 221B click shut behind him, the sound of incontestable closure to his life on Baker Street.


	2. The Wedding Night

Sherlock felt every muscle in his body relax as his friends departed his rooms at Baker Street. Normally he felt hollow at the sight of John leaving, but not today. Today his primary emotion was relief. Sherlock recognized that relief was probably not a normal feeling for a new husband on his wedding night, but then again, he was not a traditional husband.

He turned to see Greg and Molly exchange a loving kiss.

Sherlock smirked at the couple. “Now you’re getting in the spirit.”

Greg pulled away at Sherlock’s teasing, but clung to one of Molly’s hands. Sherlock could not help but be pleased for his two friends, so much in love with each other. 

“Sorry about that.” Greg squeezed Molly’s hand, and she beamed at him.

She said, “Don’t be. It is about time that you kissed your bride.”

“It is about time I had a bride I wanted to kiss.”

Molly swatted Greg’s arm as Sherlock asked, “And just how is the lawful Mrs. Lestrade coping with this new situation?”

For the first time since Sherlock had known him, Greg did not appear resentful as he spoke about his wife. “Antonia and I are actually getting along for the first time in years. It’d been rough since we lost Lily to scarlet fever. I think we both blamed each other for her death and then for being trapped together.”

Sherlock cocked his head to one side. “I must admit to being curious, but how can you support two households?”

“Antonia’s parents cut her from any family inheritance. In fact, the small allowance that they give her would expire upon the dissolution of our marriage, and they have already informed her that no family member would take her in.” Greg frowned and shook his head. “It did not leave Antonia with a lot of options. But the allowance will only require me to give a little every month for her to maintain her current level of comfort.”

“I’ve been meaning to ask, if they’ve effectively disowned her, why does she get a monthly allowance?” Molly blushed. “If you don’t mind.”

“I will have no secrets from you, my love.” Greg kissed the top of her head. “Antonia’s parents were heartbroken by the loss of Lily. They had meant to dower her eventually, despite their feelings about me. They did not stop the allowance upon Lily’s death. It’s sad that our daughter needed to die and I need to lie for Antonia to have a life of her own.” His lips compressed into a straight line as sadness overwhelmed him.

Molly nudged Greg’s side. “And her new housekeeper is quite attractive.”

With a grateful smile at Molly’s effort to lighten his mood, Greg responded, “True, true.”

Greg then turned to Sherlock, his shoulders set in full inspector mode. “Antonia has her freedom, Molly gets access to Bart’s laboratories, and we can be together even though my wife cannot release me from our marriage. But what do you get out of this pretense?”

Sherlock hesitated, but Molly encouraged, “Tell him. You know you can trust him.”

Sherlock began to pace around the sitting room. “You may have heard of Charles Augustus Magnussen.”

“The newspaper publisher?” Lestrade asked.

“Yes. But he is more than that. He is a monster, preying upon people’s weaknesses to blackmail them, to control them.” Sherlock paused and looked down at his feet. “He threatened me.”

Greg asked, “What could he possibly know about you that could be used to blackmail you?”

Sherlock recommenced his pacing. “Watson.”

“I don’t follow.”

Sherlock sympathized with Lestrade. What could anyone possibly say to cast dispersion on such a law abiding man as John? “When Watson and I lived together, the newspapers frequently referred to our confirmed bachelor statuses.”

Comprehension dawned on Greg’s face. “Hinting that you and Watson were inverts.”

“Yes.”

“But Watson is married.”

“Yes.”

“And you weren’t, until today.”

“Yes.”

Greg nodded. “Marrying Molly gives you cover.”

“It gives me time.” Sherlock waved a hand dismissively. “In any case, it isn’t true. John is not an invert. His marriage to Mary put an end to such lurid speculation in the press.”

“So there shouldn’t be anything to worry about?” 

“There is nothing at all, but Magnussen controls the truth that the public sees. One printed accusation, and Watson could be imprisoned at Reading, all to get at me.”

“Why does Magnussen want you?”

“Magnussen wants to control my brother, to keep him from looking too closely into the finances and other special circumstances of his business empire. He knows that I am my brother’s weakness.” 

“Where does Watson fit in? Why are you worried about this now?”

“A month ago, Magnussen set one of his reporters on me, asking me direct questions about the nature of my relationship with Watson.“ 

Sherlock stopped his pacing in front of the bookcase, his eyes drawn to one of John’s medical texts. So many of John’s things still inhabited 221B Baker Street. Sherlock often wondered if it was intentional, if John thought he needed an excuse to come back to visit, when in reality he would always have a place at Sherlock’s side. _Sentiment._ “I refused to answer to such drivel, even though Watson and I certainly never strayed beyond the platonic realm. Watson would never dream of it, in any case.”

“But you would.” Greg’s tone made it a statement of fact, not a question.

Sherlock made the dangerous decision to not deny the truth of his words. “I think it is clear to all who know me personally, and to many who do not, that John is my pressure point.”

“Ah.” 

And with that one syllable, Sherlock knew both that Lestrade understood and would not betray his confidence. A fact that Greg then proved by saying in a joking tone, “Being an invert is illegal, you know.”

Sherlock responded in kind. “So is being an adulterer.”

“Then you have nothing to worry about from me.” 

“Thank you.”

Molly interrupted the quiet moment of commiseration between the two men. “But there are repercussions to being wed to me. You are not free to be with anyone else.”

Rare bitterness tinged Sherlock’s response. “I’m already not free to be with anyone else.”

He shook his head and then turned to Molly. “You must agree, I’ll be the perfect husband for you. I will never be unfaithful. I will never try to limit your actions. I will never demand children, but will be a willing public father to any you and Lestrade may have. Your life will be of your own choosing.”

Greg asked, “But what can we do for you?”

“You have already done it. You’ve helped me to keep Watson safe.” Sherlock trailed his fingers over the blanket on the back of his chair, the fabric still smelling of John. “If he knew that he was being used as leverage over me, Watson would go after Magnussen himself. I cannot let that happen.”

“But you’ll be living a lie.” 

 _Nothing new there._ Sherlock snorted at the unintended irony of Molly’s words. “There is nothing I would not do for John Watson.”

For some reason, Sherlock focused on the gasogene in the corner. Many a time, John wanted to use it for its intended purpose, to make carbonated water for fizzy drinks. Sherlock had been stubborn, insisting it to only be used for experiments. The gasogene languished, gathering dust, and then he went away for two years, regretting every single time he denied John anything. And now, he would _do_ anything for John Watson.

Greg cleared his throat. “I know this is the inspector in me speaking, but can you think of anything else that Magnussen could use to blackmail you?”

“No.” Sherlock was certain of this.

“Anything he could use to blackmail Watson to get to you?”

Sherlock thought of John, his brave soldier and brilliant doctor, so solid and upstanding. He thought of the plan he was developing with Mycroft, one that would require careful timing and flawless execution and absolute secrecy, because John could not possibly be allowed involvement. But then he thought of Mary and the way the word _Liar_ increasingly showed up when he looked at her, for reasons he had not yet determined. Sherlock looked steadily at Greg. “Nothing in John’s past, no.”

Greg’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “I’ll have your back. Watson’s, too.”

Relief flooded through Sherlock. “Thank you.”

He walked over to this violin stand and picked up the instrument. “I think you’ve avoided your matrimonial duties long enough. Don’t worry. I’ll play loud enough to drown out the noise.” Sherlock winked at the couple.

Greg laughed and hurried upstairs with a nervousness unusual in a doubly-married man, a man of experience. _How would you know?_ Sherlock mocked himself inwardly. Molly adjusted her position closer to the stairwell, seemingly compelled to follow her love, her fondness for Greg clearly written all over her face.

Sherlock’s brow furrowed in confusion as he realized a question he had left unspoken for too long. “How did you know?”

Molly tore her gaze away from the stairs leading to her marriage bed. “Sorry?”

“How did you know about me?”

“Oh, that.” Molly blushed. “I did not always know. If you’ll recall, I had my eye on you for myself. But then Doctor Watson showed up and…” Molly nervously twisted a loose curl around her finger.

Sherlock prompted, “Go on.”

“You looked at him like he was the most fascinating case ever presented to you. And when you returned from your time away… Oh, Sherlock, it is so clear he is your world.”

 _God, I have been foolish. Those two years away to protect him will have been for nothing._ Sherlock struggled to keep his grip from shattering his violin’s neck.

Molly saw his anguish. “No, do not worry. Most of the time, it does not show. It’s only when you think there is nobody around to see.”

“You obviously saw.” Sherlock’s face flushed with embarrassment. 

“You knew you could trust me.”

Sherlock caught his breath as he acknowledged the truth of that statement. He relaxed slightly, but could not rid himself completely of his fear. He despised his vulnerability, but had to ask, “Do you really think nobody else knows?”

“Well, now Greg knows, and I’m sure Mrs. Hudson has figured it out.” Molly smiled. “For everyone else, you could deny the accusations, truthfully and plausibly.”

Sherlock gestured haphazardly with his bow. “Because I cannot save him from this, Molly. I could jump in front of a blade or off of a building to save him, but _this_ could ruin him. And I cannot have his life ruined because he chose to honour me with his friendship. Not my John.” Sherlock’s voice broke over his rare use of John’s Christian name.

“He must truly be an exceptional man, for you to love him so dearly.” Molly placed a hand on Sherlock’s arm. “Maybe there will be a future time, when someone like you could ...”

As Molly’s voice trailed off, Sherlock leaned over and tenderly kissed her temple. “I can conceive such a future, when women can have the freedom they deserve and when men like me can love openly. And in every one of those futures, I am in love with John. But I can not envision any future, any universe, in which John Watson would be in love with me.”

Before Molly could respond, Sherlock smiled gamely. “Now go, make a man out of him or something.”

“Thank you,” Molly whispered, with a final squeeze of his arm. Sherlock calmed his breathing to the quiet swishing of her skirts as she disappeared upstairs.

Sherlock waited until he heard the click of the bedroom door, and then he brought his violin to his shoulder and moved to the window. As he had predicted, his guests had lingered after the reception, and the last were finally leaving. John and Mary. Through the glass, he could see John grasp Mary’s hand to guide her into the carriage. He stepped back from the window and tried not to imagine the warm touch of John’s hands on his body.

Sherlock drew his bow and strains of unrequited love filled the air.

 


	3. The Journey

John lingered just inside the exterior door of 221B Baker Street. He could hear Sherlock, Greg, and Molly talking behind the closed door up the stairs.  The gentle patter of their voices reminded him of the warmth he always felt at Baker Street. No wonder he hesitated to enter the chill of the evening outside. He felt trapped between two worlds, the one where he supposedly belonged and the one where he no longer had a place. Opening the door would bring a finality to all the decisions leading to this point, many of those decisions he regretted now. He finally took a resolute breath and turned the knob.

The cold air hit John like a punch. Mary grabbed his arm as he emerged from the doorway, but her touch did not warm him. She greeted him curtly. “It’s about time you joined us.”

“Yes,” added Mycroft. “I wanted to say good-bye before I left.”

John rolled his eyes. “Good-bye.”

“John Watson, you behave yourself.” Mrs. Hudson admonished John while presenting Mycroft with a care package of her biscuits. The elder Holmes brother seemed genuinely pleased, and he responded with an affectionate smile and kiss on the cheek.

John raised his arm at an approaching horse-drawn carriage. “You may have the first cab, Holmes.”

It was Mycroft’s turn to roll his eyes at John’s outward show of civility.  After a rough start, the two men formed a relationship based on their mutual concern for the well-being of Sherlock. However, that relationship had been strained of late. Whether it was due to John’s choice of wife or his reduced presence in Sherlock’s life, John clearly had lost the approval of the elder Holmes.

Having already bid his farewells to the Stamfords and Mrs. Hudson, Mycroft turned to the Watsons. “So gratifying to finally meet you in person, Mrs. Watson.” Mycroft’s smile was particularly fake. 

Mary smiled falsely in return. “Likewise, Mr. Holmes.”

“It is a pity we do not have more time to become acquainted. I suspect we have much to discuss.”

“You’ll forgive me if I do not invite you over for supper tonight, on such short notice.”

“Ah, Mrs. Watson, I have every confidence that you’re more than prepared for the likes of me.” Mycroft punctuated his statement with a tap of his umbrella.

“You are very astute.” Sarcasm dripped from Mary’s voice, a phenomenon John was very familiar with. However, he had never heard her address someone other than him in this manner. 

“You know, I was starting to think you were avoiding me.” 

“Of course not. I’ve been eager to learn if you are the match of your brother.”

“Ah, yes. My brother has such lovely things to say about you. He is so very grateful for all you did for his doctor in his absence.”

“Yes, I was glad to be there for my love when he needed someone.”

“It was so expedient that you came into Doctor Watson’s life when you did.”

An uneasy feeling settled in John’s gut. He was used to Mycroft having cryptic conversations, but not with his wife.

“Timing is everything.” Mary’s response did nothing to alleviate John’s discomfort.

“I’m sure you always have impeccable timing.” 

“I do try.”

John felt like he were listening to a conversation in a foreign tongue, and he just wanted it to end. “I don’t know anything about timing other than you’re keeping your cabbie waiting.”

“Oh, Doctor Watson, and here I thought you would be more relaxed now you know Sherlock has someone to see him through his nights.” Glancing pointedly at John’s clenching left hand, Mycroft continued, “His danger nights, of course.”

John barely gritted out, “Good night, Holmes.”

With a smirk and a twirl of his umbrella, Mycroft entered the cab, and it clattered away down Baker Street.

The tense exchange between Mary and Mycroft had drawn the attention of the Stamfords. Mary merely shrugged and said, “He’s something, isn’t he?”

“The Holmes brothers are both unique individuals.” Helen’s words were prim, but her facial expression betrayed her condescending meaning. Mary laughed along with Helen, while John and Mike remained silent.

“We hope you’ll join us for supper again sometime soon. It’s been too long.” Helen looped her hand into the crook of Mike’s arm, and both looked at John expectantly.

Mary said, “Yes, I think so, too. Don’t you, husband?” 

“I do. Absolutely.” John clasped Mary’s hand in support. Today’s wedding marked the first time Mary had socialized since the miscarriage, so this was a welcome sign. John hoped their life together might eventually recover from the impasse experienced in the past year since Sherlock’s return.  As for the miscarriage, John was never quite sure what had happened. The pregnancy had not been expected, having practiced what preventative methods they could. Both John and Mary had been surprised when Sherlock deduced her pregnancy not long after their wedding. Then one day, Mary returned from an outing to the countryside with friends suffering the aftereffects of an apparent miscarriage. She was weak in constitution, her carpet bag filled with bloodied garments. She had held up rather well emotionally, John thought, but had expressed concern about appearing in public. 

John had sympathy for that. He remembered the well meaning, but clumsy words of friends and family after Sherlock’s fall and during those two dark years without him. Mary had brought light with her, a gleaminto that darkness, and though she paled against the brilliance Sherlock shined upon his return, John still felt affection for her. But it was not the connection he felt with Sherlock. During Mary’s frequent trips away, John would go on cases with Sherlock and stay at Baker Street, and he could recognize an upsetting fact… if it had been socially acceptable, he would have ended their engagement. But breaking off the engagement would have put Mary in a precarious social and economic position, especially at their ages, andreturning to Baker Street would have renewedthe sensationalist speculation about his relationship with Sherlock in a way that John could not bear. 

“John?” Mary nudged his shoulder.

“Sorry.” John shook his head to clear his thoughts.  Mary patted his arm and moved to chat with Helen in the deepening twilight.

John looked at Mike, who had joined him at his side. “Lost myself there for a bit, didn’t I?” 

“Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s been a tiring day.” Mike shot John a glance full of sympathy and understanding, and John seethed with frustration.  He and Mike had known each other for a very long time. Before Afghanistan, before Sherlock… Mike knew the John who had entered Bart’s full of optimism and determination, as well as the John who had departed London out of duty as a soldier and an innate dissatisfaction with his life that all of his doctoring skills could not diagnose, much less cure.

War had not provided a cure for that dissatisfaction. Nor had marriage or the idea of impending fatherhood. The only time John ever experienced true contentment was when he was with Sherlock. True joy and bursting rage, genuine affection and unsettling vexation, innate companionship and illuminating misunderstandings. His relationship with Sherlock was a roller coaster of emotions, and John had never been so happy, so peaceful, so alive.

If Sherlock had never left for those two years, John knew he would have always been by his side. John felt this incontrovertible truth deep in his bones.

He did understand fully what it meant.

A kind squeeze of John’s arm jolted him back to the present, as Mike said, “Let me know if you need anything. Any time. I’ll keep an eye on Holmes, too.”

John once again pondered the fact that of all the people he knew, Mike was the one who had known both him and Sherlock the longest. And Mike was worried. Worried that John was not okay in the wake of Sherlock’s marriage, worried that Sherlock’s marriage meant he was not in the best way.  What did he see in John and Sherlock that concerned him in their absence from one another? John knew Mike was a gentle soul, and many had confided in him over the years knowing their secrets would be safe. Did Sherlock have secrets, ones beyond the now expectedprevarication during cases and those seldom acknowledged years amongst the dead? John certainly had no secrets, none he shared with his wife, his friends, sometimes not even with himself. He was Doctor John Watson, Captain, Fifth Northumberland Fusiliers. Dedicated brother, dutiful husband. He represented Queen and country and was determined to live a life better than expected for one carrying his father’s name. A respectable man.

Straightening his posture, John responded with a smile. “I’m fine, Stamford. There is nothing wrong with me. I’m sure Holmes would say the same about himself.”

At the sound of hooves approached, John waved down the next cab and helped Mike and his wife into the carriage. He stood next to Mary, and the couple waved their farewells as the horses drew their friends away into the London night.

John Watson always behaved in a gentlemanly fashion. Nobody would ever have justification to questionhis decisions or comportment. So it made perfect sense that he had hailed Hansom cabs for first Mycroft, then the Stamfords. Nobody questioned why he would keep his wife standing outside on Baker Street during the cold winter night. 

John was glad nobody would ask, because he was afraid of the answer.

Afraid he would finally have to admit the deepest secret he carried with him, that every time leaving Baker Street was like leaving a part of himself behind. Afraid to admit the heartache he felt because he no longer had Baker Street to return to, now Sherlock was married. 

Married.

And so John Watson lingered on Baker Street, knowing this time he was forever leaving his home, his place having been filled. That he felt his place had been filled by a wife brought him to a conclusion he could no longer refuse to face.

After a third Hansom cab pulled up to the kerb, John lent his hand to assist his wife. He watched her arrange her skirts in the carriage and was about to join her when the sound of violin music reached his ears. It was a familiar tune, one Sherlock had composed during the Irene Adler case. Although Sherlock had insisted his attraction to her was purely intellectual, John had always thought it was a love song for the Woman. However, he doubted Sherlock would play music composed for another woman on his wedding night. Just a sad tune mistaken for a love song, John thought. He’d lost count of how many times he’d heard Sherlock play this composition. The melody attracted John like a magnet, and his gaze was drawn up to the windows of 221B. The thin curtains covered the glass and Mary was safely in the shadows of the cab, so John finally, briefly dropped his facade and let the naked longing show on his face.

Because John knew Sherlock did not love him, but he could not envision any future, any universe, where John Watson did not love Sherlock Holmes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was prompted by an image that sprung to mind while the Christmas Special was filming, one of John looking longingly up at the windows of 221B Baker Street. Thanks for the kudos and kindness, everyone!


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